


Promises

by laugh_a_latte



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: (rated for this content!), Angst, Depression, Jeremy tries his best, M/M, Post-Squip, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-20 12:58:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18993130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laugh_a_latte/pseuds/laugh_a_latte
Summary: Jeremy gets a phone call in the middle of the night.





	Promises

**Author's Note:**

> Please pay attention to the tags. If you've read my other fics, this fits somewhere before Bracelets and after At 3 A.M., in the timeline in my head! (You don't have to read my other fics for this to make sense, though!)
> 
> (Also shoutout to pomegrantaire/Erika for kind of beta-ing this! ily!)

Jeremy is slowly coming out of a dream. His alarm is waking him. He definitely does not want to wake up yet. His brain is telling him he hasn't slept the full night, and isn't it weird for his alarm to be going off right now? But it doesn't sound quite like his alarm, and. Wait. Jeremy sits bolt upright in bed—fuck, that's his _ringtone_ —and scrambles to answer his phone before it stops ringing, because the only person who would be calling this late is Michael. And Michael only ever calls this late for one reason.

Jeremy squints at his bright phone screen enough to sort of make out Michael’s name, then answers, a residual rectangle staining his vision. He tries to blink it away.

“Michael?” He says, voice scratchy and dry and totally unrecognizable. He clears it away from the phone.

Silence. Jeremy’s clutches the edge of his blanket as his heartbeat skyrockets.

“Michael, are you there?”

Jeremy hears movement on the other end of the line and lets out a short breath of relief. “Jeremy?”

Michael’s voice is tired and empty and dangerously calm and Jeremy just knows he must be on the wrong side of a panic attack.

“I’m coming over, okay?” Jeremy is already shoving his blankets off. “Okay, Michael?” Jeremy clears his throat again. “I-I’ll be right over.”

There’s rustling on the other end, then the line goes dead.

Jeremy is shaking and his brain is still trying to catch up with his body as he changes his sweaty shirt and shoves shoes on. He is about seventy percent awake by the time he’s grabbing his keys and wallet and is out the front door not a minute later, typing a very typo-full text to his dad explaining where he is, just in case.

He is walking as fast as he can without running, since running in the middle of the night is generally frowned upon. It’ll take twenty minutes to get to Michael’s speed-walking, and Jeremy wishes, not for the first time, that he could drive.

Jeremy’s as awake as he can be for now, but he is still shaking halfway there, his heart pounding so hard he can actually feel it.

Michael called him. Michael actually called him. Michael needs him right now.

Michael used to call Jeremy a lot, before the Squip. Jeremy made him promise, what feels like a long time ago, to call him whenever he was feeling his worst, at his worst, and Jeremy would rush over and try his best to help. But since the Squip, Michael hasn’t called.

Michael’s bracelets do a damn good job of covering his scars, but if you know what’s there under those bracelets, you can still find them. And Jeremy sees between the silicon bands and braided thread and leather that he still has bad nights.

But tonight, Michael called.

Jeremy starts jogging.

He sprints across Michael’s neighbor’s yard, not caring at all if he crushes a few petunias, then he pries back the loose piece of siding under the front window of the Mell household. He feels around for the spare key tucked away there.

It takes Jeremy a few tries to get the key in the lock. Then, he opens the front door slowly so it doesn’t creak, though every extra second feels like hours. He can’t wake up Michael’s moms. He clicks the front door shut, toes off his shoes, and forces himself to walk to the basement door, even though every fiber of his being wants to run.

Jeremy opens it. He can see the warm light pooling under the door crack at the bottom of the stairs. Jeremy reaches the door and pauses, apprehension taking over.

Michael hasn’t called him in months, and he forgot how bad it can be sometimes. He is so terrified, out of nowhere, of what lies beyond the door.

Jeremy shakes his head, takes another breath, and pushes the door open.

“Michael?” He says softly into the room as he enters.

Nothing.

Jeremy checks again. No Michael. Just a box of embroidery thread and a worn-out walkman case on top of messed up bed covers. His backpack is knocked over, forgotten near the dark, glowing TV screen. Jeremy turns around and walks back up the stairs. This horrible feeling pools into his stomach as he tries to stay quiet. Jeremy checks the kitchen and the living room and peeks into the short hallway with his parents' bedroom, a closet, and the master bathroom. No light is coming from beneath any of those doors. No Michael.

Jeremy wraps his arms around himself to try to calm down his shaking. This doesn't feel real, somehow. Jeremy doesn't even know what time it is. It could be midnight or it could be five, he never checked. But this doesn't feel like it's really happening, and Jeremy doesn't know what to do, standing in Michael's dark living room, barefoot and sweaty and half asleep. He doesn't realize how silent everything is until he hears a creak above him. Jeremy looks up at the ceiling. Michael’s house has this small upstairs annex with a cramped bedroom and a half bathroom. If Michael was going to be anywhere, he’d have to be there.

Jeremy walks slowly up the dusty stairs, and his chest clenches when he sees light pooling from the bathroom into the tiny hallway. The door is half open.

“Michael?” Jeremy calls, trying to keep his voice soft and steady and not at all panicky.

No response. Jeremy runs up the last few stairs and pushes the door open fully.

Michael is sitting on the floor with his back pressed against the wall opposite the open cabinet, his knees pulled tight into his chest, his face buried into his arms. He is surrounded by his bracelets. His phone is on the floor in front of the door. Jeremy tries not to think too hard about why Michael is here instead of in the basement, and instead he focuses on Michael. Warm, present, safe, alive _Michael_. Jeremy squats down in front of him.

“Hey, Michael?”

Michael shakes his head into his arms. Jeremy hates this.

“Michael, I’m going to touch you, okay? I’m g-going to touch your arm, is that okay?” 

Michael doesn’t reply. Jeremy wipes his sweaty hands on his pajama pants and gently touches the top of Michael’s wrist, that’s visible under his mess of hair. When Michael doesn’t swat him away, Jeremy takes his hand.

Jeremy pulls it gently towards him, and his stomach drops to the basement when he sees what Michael did there.

Jeremy can’t look away. It’s been so, so long since he’s been allowed to look, been allowed to help, and he forgot. He forgot how to deal with this or what to say or what to do.

After a shocked moment, Jeremy's eyes slide past these new additions, right to the other scars that Michael made these past few months, ones Jeremy hasn't been allowed to see, and his breath stops. He takes in every one, each a moment when Michael was hurting, but didn’t think he could call Jeremy. Jeremy's chest aches and he needs to remind himself to breathe. And even though he already knew it, it really hits hard—this visual of how much he truly failed Michael. Over and over, again and again.

But still, none of them compare to the oldest looking of the new scars, jagged and messy and horrible, and Jeremy can just about make out a word there.

 _Loser_.

That wasn’t there before the Squip. And Jeremy thinks he knows when it happened, but he can’t think about that. He can’t, because he did that. He made that one, and—

“I’m sorry,” Michael says, interrupting Jeremy's racing thoughts. Jeremy shakes his head. This is not about him right now, this is about Michael. Helping Michael, that’s why Jeremy is here now. Jeremy is here now because Michael called him this time, he actually called, and Jeremy is here to _help._ He has to focus on _right now._ Jeremy pulls his gaze up. Michael’s warm, bloodshot eyes are peeking up from his arm, through his hair. “I’m sorry.”

Jeremy swallows back the ache in his throat. Michael’s voice isn’t sad, or angry, or anything. Instead it’s just empty. Empty, save for this heavy tug of regret.

“You—” Jeremy voices hitches, and he has to swallow again to stop it from wavering. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

Michael doesn’t respond.

"Michael."

Jeremy should pull Michael up and help him clean his wrist and probably feed him something like he used to, but instead he drops down next to Michael against the wall. He's just too drained, too in panicked shock, and too busy trying not to apologize back. Jeremy doesn’t let go of Michael’s hand, though, and instead rubs circles into the back of it with his thumb, careful not to touch any of the cuts. He doesn’t want to hurt Michael anymore.

And Michael doesn’t stop looking at Jeremy. Jeremy glances back. Michael’s eyes are so guarded, so scared and unsure. At one time they were always so open and inviting, just for Jeremy. The rest of the world only saw Michael’s guarded, closed off eyes, but Jeremy. Jeremy always got to see inside.

But ever since the Squip, that wall that guarded Michael from the rest of the world has been guarding Michael from Jeremy, too. While their interactions are almost back to what they were before, Jeremy just hasn't been able to get through that barrier, and he thinks it’s the last thing that needs to go before they can finally be back to what they were. Back to okay. Back to before he fucked it all up so badly.

And now, as Jeremy looks into Michael’s heavy eyes, he thinks he can see a crack in the wall Michael’s built. And he hopes maybe tonight is the beginning of it’s crumble, something that will probably be long and painful and awful. But maybe by the end of it, Michael will let Jeremy back in.

Jeremy has to look away. The thought of what could happen is too much. He lets his eyes fall on Michael’s hand, instead, still wrapped in his, and the unguarded wrists Michael is letting him see tonight. Jeremy tries to focus on just that, because if he thinks about what could be, he won't be able to stop. He needs to focus on right now, this moment, and maybe what could happen in the next five minutes, if he's good. He needs to, so he doesn't completely fall apart, especially not right now. And Jeremy is so lost in this that he doesn’t notice the not-quite-dry blood that is rapidly staining his shirt. He doesn’t notice his tears spilling onto it, either. 

But, he does notice when Michael presses his shoulder against his, and he definitely notices when Michael rests his head against it, his hair tickling Jeremy's neck. Jeremy focuses on the grounding weight of it and lets his head fall over onto Michael's.

And Jeremy doesn't notice Michael's silent tears that fall onto his shoulder, or the unopened pill bottle clutched tight in Michael's other hand. But he does notice when Michael adjusts his grip, lacing his fingers in with Jeremy's.

Jeremy tries to breathe, and holds on tight.

**Author's Note:**

> So, if you've read my other fics, you know Michael's realization at the end of At 3 A.M.? This is, like, the Jeremy version of that. Thank you for reading, and as always, thank you for the amazing comments I've received on my other recent fics. Comments always make my day! Constructive criticism is always welcome, too! <3
> 
> (also sorry for the lack of posting, I've been busy recently and am only going to get busier this summer, so I probably will only be able to post once every one or two weeks :( thank you for understanding!!)


End file.
